


let me take you away (and bring you back here)

by downtheroadandupthehill



Series: getting fucked in lingerie [5]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dirty Talk, Enjolras wears a corset, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, and a leash and collar, subjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:19:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downtheroadandupthehill/pseuds/downtheroadandupthehill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire exhales slowly. He’s pulled the leash taut around his hand, and Enjolras can’t take his eyes away from it. “Just let me know when you’d like to do it. Do this.” He waves the collar in demonstration. His voice is low, like gravel, and like he’s trying to keep it even. For Enjolras, this is definitely an encouraging sign.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let me take you away (and bring you back here)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notmyrevolution](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmyrevolution/gifts).



Grantaire is taken aback, when Enjolras shows him his latest purchase, although Enjolras had been expecting that.

His boyfriend seems completely at a loss, pulling the dark red leash and matching collar from a discreet-looking plastic shopping bag, and looks up at him with wide eyes.

“Are you sure about this?” Grantaire asks him. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s hotter than hell, but I’m wondering at what point this starts to tread on your whole freedom, liberty, ‘everyone is equal’ bullshit?” As he speaks, his long fingers toy with the collar’s buckle, and even just the sight of that has Enjolras feeling a little too warm.

“Nonsense,” he says, attempting to sound brusque—it’s a difficult task, when Grantaire begins to idly wrap the leash around his own hand, as if to test it’s strength. “I am exercising my free will and consenting to wear a collar and leash, and—” Here Enjolras licks his lips briefly, and lowers his voice. “And asking you to also exercise your free will in consenting to make me your bitch while I wear them.”

Grantaire has stopped examining the collar and leash, and is staring at Enjolras with an unfathomable expression.

“I fail to see how it is a compromise of my ideals,” Enjolras adds nervously, hoping that he’s still going about this in the right way.

Grantaire exhales slowly. He’s pulled the leash taut around his hand, and Enjolras can’t take his eyes away from it. “Just let me know when you’d like to do it. Do this.” He waves the collar in demonstration. His voice is low, like gravel, and like he’s trying to keep it even. For Enjolras, this is definitely an encouraging sign.

“Soon. Now,” he answers almost instantly, and feels his face flush. He’d thought about giving Grantaire more time to consider the idea, but now that he has the leash in his hands Enjolras can’t help but  _need_  to be on the other end of it. And judging by the way Grantaire is watching him, he doesn’t want any more time to consider it.

“Well, almost now. I have a surprise to go along with it. Don’t worry, it’s nothing you need to O.K. ahead of time,” he says, at Grantaire’s raised eyebrows. “Just something I like, and I think you’ll like, too.” There’s another shopping bag stashed in the back of their closet, behind the vacuum cleaner that Grantaire has never even touched. It’s an effective hiding spot for small surprises like this.

Grantaire swallows. “Do you want me to go wait in the kitchen or—”

“That’s fine. Take those with you.” Enjolras nods at the collar and leash. “Will you be ready to scene when I tell you to come back?”

“To  _scene_?” Grantaire is smirking now. “Is that one of your new vocabulary words?”

Enjolras blushes again and shoves lightly at his shoulder. “Just get out and be ready in ten minutes.”

…..

The corset is made of red leather, with shiny black ribbons for laces, and black underwear edged with the tiniest bit of lace to match. He’s tried it on a few times before, with the help of instructional videos online to guide him, so now that he really needs to wear it it’s far less of a challenge.

Enjolras does up the buttons in front and kneels up on their bed to tug the laces tighter. Not too tight—he isn’t in this for the dramatic hourglass figure or the internal organ damage, just the look of it, his abdomen bound tight in red leather, only slightly cinching his waist in. He ties the laces behind his back the best that he can, and takes a deep breath to feel his ribs, his lungs constricted against the steel bones inside of the corset. It’s not too much, doesn’t hurt, won’t cause any permanent damage—probably only will leave him a little breathless as he gets fucked, later.

Three more deep breaths. He stays on the bed, on his knees, as he calls Grantaire’s name to have him come back into the room, though he’s more than ready to drop to the floor if Grantaire tells him to. His limbs are rigid now, and he shifts his shoulders slightly to try and loosen up, not that it matters. That’s what this is for, the ceding of control to Grantaire.

Grantaire, who is stepping cautiously around the doorframe with the collar and leash in his hand, and there’s those blue eyes wide again with wonder.

“Jesus fucking christ, Enj,” he exhales.

And that’s  _nice_ , that Grantaire doesn’t get tired of this, of Enjolras “surprising” him with bits of lace and leather, or stockings, or a skirt, always ends up staring at him with an expression akin to awe. It’s nice, for a moment, until Enjolras needs something more.

“Collar time?” Grantaire asks, coming closer to take a seat on the edge of the bed.

Enjolras is unable to keep his eagerness from showing in the quick nod of his head, scrambling to obey when Grantaire gestures to his lap. He ends up straddling him on his knees and tilts his head back to bare his neck.

“Good boy,” Grantaire murmurs, and Enjolras can’t help but give a shallow gasp as the collar is buckled around his neck, leash already attached. Grantaire’s hands linger, tracing the circle of the collar briefly, before leaning back and resting his weight on them, on the bed, and tilting his gaze up to Enjolras’s. In his right hand, he loosely grips the end of the leash.

“Safe word?”

The answer is automatic. “King Louis.”

“Good boy,” Grantaire says a second time, more slowly, the curving smirk of his lips making the words themselves obscene. Enjolras whimpers and shifts, to drag himself against Grantaire’s jean-clad thigh because the friction is irresistible. He can feel the heaving of his ribcage against the corset, and moves again, giving Grantaire a direct, insubordinate glare.

(Disobedience will get him  _everywhere_  he wants to be, with Grantaire, he’s learned.)

That’s when Grantaire tugs at the leash for the first time, and Enjolras feels himself yanked abruptly forward by the force of it. And Grantaire didn’t even tug  _that_  hard.

“Is that what you want to do? Hump my leg like a bitch until you come? Is that what the greedy slut wants?” Grantaire thrusts his hips upwards, and Enjolras down, unable to help himself. It’s not quite humping Grantaire’s leg, but it’s close. When Grantaire reaches around with his free hand to smack Enjolras’s ass, he moans and grinds down harder, the shock of pain heightening the sensation of Grantaire pressing against him.

There’s another pull to the leash, this time more even and controlled—Grantaire drawing him forward again, to slot their mouths together, slide their tongues together. They’re pressed together everywhere now, and the steel bones inside the corset have to be digging into Grantaire’s stomach as well as Enjolras’s, though it’s nothing near enough to bring them apart.

The edges of Grantaire’s teeth play with his bottom lip, close to drawing blood, and Enjolras just  _has_  to touch. His hands reach up to fist themselves in Grantaire’s curls, and Grantaire hums with acquiescence into his mouth, although it earns Enjolras another sharp spank, too.

The leash, again, this time guiding Enjolras back and back with Grantaire’s hand splayed across his back to help. He can feel his boyfriend’s fingers flex around the laces before they’re gone, and Enjolras is left to stumble to his knees—he has to strain against the leash, for that, before Grantaire gives him more slack and  _fuckfuckfuck_  he loves that, on his knees at Grantaire’s feet and stuck there like a fucking dog. No one’s even touched his cock yet, and he can feel himself beginning to relax, tension leaving him bit by bit with every movement of the leash, of Grantaire moving him from place to place.

Panting, he sits back on his heels, and watches Grantaire strip his shirt off in one fluid motion, and then start to undo his jeans. Grantaire is careful to keep the leash wrapped around his hand and not let go.

“Well, don’t just sit there,” Grantaire says, and pushes his jeans down and leaves them bunched up at his thighs. “Get over here and suck me off.”

More pulling on the leash, and Enjolras has no doubt there will be marks left around his neck, from the strain and chafe of the collar—

He clasps his hands together behind his back, shuffles closer on his knees and tries not to be too greedy at the sight of the curve of Grantaire’s erection. Enjolras starts slowly, plays at being coy—small licks to the head, which make Grantaire inhale sharply and dig the fingers of one hand into Enjolras’s hair, dragging his mouth onto his cock in one jerking motion.

Enjolras sputters and chokes at the heavy weight in the back of his throat. He feels tears starting to emerge at the corners of his eyes while he struggles for air, and  _fuck_  the feeling is making him even harder inside his underwear and he hopes he’ll be allowed to come soon.

There’s a brief reprieve as Grantaire shifts back—before he thrusts inside Enjolras’s mouth again with a muttered curse. Enjolras keeps his jaw loose, mouth open, watching Grantaire with wide, plaintive eyes. He doesn’t ever want him to stop, wonders if it’s possible to come just from having his throat fucked like this—from the degradation of it, just how he likes it.

And then Grantaire is pulling Enjolras off of his cock and there’s the leash again—gentler now, as Grantaire guides Enjolras back up onto the bed while Enjolras takes a succession of quick, deep breaths. His hand is still in Enjolras’s hair, but softer and more soothing.

“Hands and knees,” he tells him, his breath ghosting against Enjolras’s ear. “While I open you up for me.”

Enjolras shudders and complies, tries not to buck his hips back and feeling desperate. He feels the collar twist around his neck as Grantaire moves to kneel behind him, the leash still in his hand as he slides Enjolras’s underwear down his legs, helps him to kick them off of his ankles and onto the floor. The other man has acquired lube from the bedside drawer, and Enjolras rests his head down against the mattress and closes his eyes—he hears the familiar click of the cap, and then cold, slick fingers pressed up against him,  _inside_  him. His legs are shaking and he’s making small mewling sounds into the bed, with Grantaire behind him humming appreciatively.

“So needy,” he says, and Enjolras jolts as he adds a third finger. “You’re going to take me so well when you ride my cock.”

That brings Enjolras’s head up, looking back over his shoulder at Grantaire with a questioning glance, because isn’t the entire point of this for Enjolras not to be the one in control for once?

He whines, almost opens his mouth to argue when Grantaire slides his fingers out of him and stretches out on the bed beside him. Somewhere along the way, Grantaire has shucked off his pants and underwear entirely, and he raises an eyebrow at Enjolras.

“Well? Do you want to ride my cock or don’t you?”

The question itself is all it takes to have Enjolras begging even though it isn’t as if he’s being deprived. “Yes. Please.  _Fuck_ , please let me, please let me. Oh my god,” Enjolras finds himself babbling, brought back out of his head and into the moment.

With Enjolras on top there ought to be  _some_  semblance of control, that he has more of that than Grantaire does, but Grantaire’s teasing smile and the leash held tight in his hand remind Enjolras otherwise—his hips buck involuntarily, when Grantaire half-drags him by it, so that Enjolras is climbing over Grantaire to straddle him, Grantaire’s cock slip-sliding against the cleft of his ass.

“I know you need it, my little cockslut,” Grantaire hisses. “Show me how much.”

Enjolras is shaking, as he rises up on his knees and reaches behind him to guide Grantaire into him. He sinks down slowly, bites his lip and tastes blood. Grantaire had taken his time before—there’s hardly any pain as Enjolras takes more of him until he’s entirely seated on Grantaire’s cock, breathing hard and fighting the urge to move without permission.

Grantaire stares up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, and he’s beginning to look more than a little flushed himself. He draws his hands into fists at his side, unsure what to do with them for a moment, before resting them on Enjolras’s hips, right where the corset ends and warm skin begins. He’s still holding onto the leash, too, and Enjolras can feel it against his hip.

“Can you come just like this?” Grantaire asks him.

It’s both a genuine question and a challenge, with Enjolras’s cock remaining untouched between them, leaking precome onto red leather.

In answer, he rolls his hips and gasps.

“Yeah, whore.” Grantaire reaches back, and Enjolras moans when he gets another spank. “You’re going to come just like this.”

When Enjolras rolls his hips again, the leash is forgotten, held loosely in Grantaire’s hand—but Enjolras can still feel the collar hot around his neck, he’s sweating beneath it, and he hears the sound of his own moaning grow higher as he starts to ride Grantaire’s cock. His hands clench into fists, and he braces them against Grantaire’s chest so he can move faster. Beneath him, Grantaire growls encouragement.

“Such a good boy. Showing me how much you need my cock. Good boy, good slut,” he purrs, though the noise turns into a groan when he arches his back and thrusts upwards, feels Enjolras tighten around him. “ _Fuck_.” His neck is gleaming with sweat, and his fingernails will inevitably leave marks where they dig into Enjolras’s skin—they always do—

The muscles in Enjolras’s thighs are beginning to burn and to tire, and he has to rock his hips faster, seek out that one  _exquisite_  angle because if he doesn’t come soon he has a feeling he won’t get to come at all, because he’s a good boy, he’s a good boy and he won’t touch himself because he isn’t allowed to, and he needs it, needs this as Grantaire scrapes his bruising fingernails down his thighs and

Enjolras leans forward and rocks his hips back and oh oh _oh_  there it is, and he does again and again and he’s whining now even though his throat is sore, keening halfway to sobbing and he can’t form the words to  _ask_  but Grantaire is there and Grantaire knows.

“Does my slut want to come?”

His hands back on Enjolras’s hips, helping him to move while Grantaire thrusts beneath him andthere  _and there_. Everything is aching deliciously and he can hardly breathe inside the corset and the pleasure is so white-hot that it’s burning—

“Coming just from my cock like a good slut, good whore. Fuck, Enjolras—” And his eyes are closed, he’s seeing spots behind his eyelids so he doesn’t see the look on Grantaire’s face when he comes, too. It sounds like he’s gritting his teeth.  Moments later, his grip on Enjolras finally begins to loosen.

Enjolras lets himself slump forward, then, and nuzzle absentmindedly against Grantaire’s neck. Grantaire slings an arm around his waist, and with his free hand, gropes around for the end of the leash.

“This was a good idea,” he says, and Enjolras nods in agreement against him.

“You were very, very good,” he tells Grantaire.

“Yeah?” He can hear the smile in Grantaire’s voice. “I did an okay job of making you my bitch?”

Enjolras hums, because words are hard, but he hopes it conveys his meaning.

“You know you’re getting your semen all over your corset thing, right? Not that I mind, really, I like you being in covered in your own semen but I also hope you wear that thing again.”

Enjolras just nuzzles against him again and stretches lazily—because what’s the point in getting fucked out in bed if he can’t fall right asleep there afterwards?

He feels Grantaire carefully unhook the leash from the collar around his neck and mutter fondly, “Not gonna let you choke yourself to death in your sleep, at least.”


End file.
